"What the military actually needs is combat capability. Nobody's asking for a pilot inside the thing, right? The Pentagon doesn't want soldiers strapped into powered armor running around unsupervised. What if a soldier gets radicalized, or holds a grudge against his CO, and decides to go on a rampage in a weaponized exosuit? The generals want control. They want obedience. And humans, by nature, are the hardest things to control."
Daisy rattled off a wall of arguments, leaving Justin's head spinning. At first blush it all sounded perfectly reasonable. On reflection, some of it might have been a bit twisted.
"You need to understand the psychology of the brass at the Pentagon. Picture this: you build a suit of titanium alloy armor, mount a laser pulse cannon, add a propulsion system, a computer-assisted targeting array, and a dynamic motion-capture rig. Sounds incredible, right?" she asked Justin.
His eyes were gleaming. He clapped his hands together: "Yes! Exactly! That's what I had in mind. Can you do it?"
Daisy sighed. "That's my whole point, Mr. Hammer. You don't understand how these people think. I can build it, sure. But have you considered the price tag? Five hundred million minimum, and that's before R&D. You think the Pentagon is going to adopt hardware that expensive?"
She gave a cold laugh. "Five hundred million. You know how much cannon fodder you could recruit in Harlem for that kind of money?"
"A flying rifle. A walking bomb. Those are the weapons that actually belong on a battlefield. These humanoid robots are flashy and useless. Strap a submachine gun to a remote-controlled drone, give it an operating system, let someone fly it from a bunker—that's plenty of killing power right there. Cheap and effective. But no, you people had to go and build robots."
Daisy clicked her tongue in disapproval. Justin stared at her like she was some kind of exotic animal. You spend your days thinking about this stuff? Are you even a woman?
Complaints aside, she handed over the redesign proposal.
The price quote to the Pentagon stayed the same: one hundred twenty-five million. The detailed specs, though, required some creative thinking.
Daisy's first question was about height. The drones stood in a row, gunmetal-gray paint gleaming, chests puffed out. At two and a half meters tall they looked imposing, sure—but was all that height actually necessary?
She asked Justin specifically about the height issue.
Justin—whose moral compass rivaled Fury's in terms of reliability—had already cast himself as a narrator and tour guide once he'd assessed the situation.
"The Air Force Chief of Staff felt that bigger machines look more intimidating," he said. He answered every question she asked.
Daisy knew the man he meant. "General Haig? Fine. If that's his call, leave the height for now."
The two-and-a-half-meter robots were idiotic, in her opinion. Enormous targets, sluggish movement. But since someone else was paying, she kept her objections to herself.
She glanced at the propulsion system and burst out laughing. "Ha! Oh, that's rich. Who designed this for you? They're rechargeable! These things run on batteries!"
She pressed a hand to her forehead, shaking with laughter. Twenty robots lined up like electric cars, their feet plugged into charging stations. They looked fearsome standing there, but the whole display was essentially a charging bay. She estimated a full charge would give them maybe half an hour of flight time.
Justin liked flattery and had minimal interest in women—a lot of people said he was gay.
Facing Daisy's laugh now, he wasn't enjoying it one bit. Only shame. If the power system hadn't been this embarrassing, he never would have given up so many shares.
Daisy had a new appreciation for the blowhard. He was a complete layman on the technical side. A handful of engineers poached from Stark Industries at premium salaries had been stringing him along. Their intentions were obviously suspect, and they'd almost certainly been skimming. Don't ask Daisy how she knew—call it instinct.
Once the Pentagon demo was behind them in fifteen days, her next order of business would be launching an anti-corruption campaign inside Hammer Industries.
She cleared her throat. "A perpetual-motion power source is beyond me. Beyond Tony, too, for that matter. Everything has its limits. But a simplified reactor? That I can manage."
"Simplified" was generous. In actual performance, it didn't compare to the arc reactor at all. She'd never had access to Howard Stark's original schematics—everything she'd achieved was through reverse-engineering.
By her estimate, with equivalent materials, she could build a reactor at roughly eighty to ninety percent of Stark's output. That was more than sufficient.
She knew HYDRA wanted the arc reactor and the Iron Man armor schematics. She wasn't about to hand them over. And since Stark would eventually turn the Mark II over to the military, she'd deliberately kneecap the power systems on the drones.
These glorified tin cans didn't need a high-end reactor. If she gave away the whole technology stack in one go, how was she supposed to monetize future upgrades? She had enough tech in her head for ten iterations. For now, version 0.1 would keep the brass and HYDRA happy.
Reduced RPM. Lower output. Cheapest materials available. With a crew of experienced technicians, one afternoon was all it took. Justin's Hammer Drones were free of their charging cables.
"That's amazing! You're a genius!" The thought of the shares he'd surrendered stung, but it was value for money. Once the drones started selling, he'd not only dodge bankruptcy—he'd turn a profit.
Daisy waved him away. Stop hovering. She took charge of the engineering floor and began directing the modifications herself.
"Crank the thrust to maximum. A hundred kilometers per hour? You're joking. Two hundred, minimum."
"The weapons loadout needs a rework too. Why are there Gatling guns on these things? Rip them all out. Mount missiles, rockets, incendiary rounds—whatever gets the job done."
"And the waste! Do you people have any idea how much this costs? You only need armor plating on the front. The back? Is this drone going to run away? Strip the rear armor. Replace it with sheet steel—no, regular structural steel."
Daisy flipped through the original drone blueprints several times, picking apart flaws by the dozen. A few of the engineers poached from Stark Industries tried to push back, but they were outclassed before the argument even started.
In Daisy's estimation, the greatest engineering mind at Stark Industries was obviously Tony Stark himself. Second was Dr. Riva, now working for S.H.I.E.L.D. These specimens Justin had hired away—greedy and dim in equal measure—were second-rate at best.
Justin watched the drones undergo a dramatic transformation in a single afternoon and felt genuinely energized. Then his phone rang. He was already grinning when he picked up, and by the time he hung up, he was practically bouncing off the walls.
"The Air Force grabbed an Iron Man suit at Stark's birthday party. Want to come take a look?" He was starting to find Daisy's expertise indispensable.
The Air Force? Daisy thought for a moment and realized it had to be Colonel Rhodes walking off with the Mark II.
A chance to examine a genuine Iron Man suit up close? She wasn't going to say no. She nodded without hesitation.